MARIEL

1~The Pieces~

January 1st, 1998: Moscow, Russia

Headlights snapped on, an engine roared, and tires screeched.

With an abrupt gasp, Fr. Paul jolted into a sprint towards his car, clutching the infant against his body. He flung open the door and fell inside, fumbling to jam the key into the ignition. He slammed his foot onto the pedal and the car lurched forward, forcing the open door to fly shut. Behind him, the other car trailed his, and the headlights in the rearview mirror lit up the interior.

The dark streets of Moscow came alive as the cars sped past the city buildings and streets. The infant screamed. Fr. Paul swerved around a stopped car and sped through a red light. Tires screeched as he swerved again to avoid an oncoming van to his right. His body jerked forward as the vehicles made brief contact and the car came to an abrupt stop.

The priest whirled in his seat. The headlights intensified in brightness as the other car sped closer. He turned forward again and hit the gas once more. Gasping, he just as quickly slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched yet again, and the car stopped abruptly several feet before a passing train. Gritting his teeth, the man twisted the wheel around to turn the car.

The seatbelt locked as the car lurched forward, and the force slammed him into the steering wheel. The horn blew. It was when they slammed their car into his again that he realized their intent. They hoped fear would drive him from the car. He struggled to unbuckle himself as the car behind him pushed his forward, closer and closer to the train. With one hand, he spun the wheel. The tires groaned against the turn and the skidding. The roar of the train vibrated his ears.

The seatbelt popped up. He grabbed the baby and flung his door open. His feet slid against the ground, nearing the tracks, and he jumped out and sprinted alongside the train. He heard a scraping and crunch and knew the car had been pushed against the train. He looked back and saw the other car reverse, turn, and speed towards him. Clutching the baby, he leapt up and grabbed the bar of a boxcar, curling up his legs. With a grunt, he swung himself onto the chain which held the cars together. Sweat tickled his face as he struggled to gain balance. The headlights shone on the ground beside the train.

The train's whistle screamed. Fr. Paul leapt to the other side, rolling across the cement while protectively holding the child. Pain seared through his legs and he doubled over, trying to rise. Breathing hard, he crawled from the street, continuing to clutch the baby. Just a little bit further, and he would be to his destination...just a little...

Sirens wailed and flashing lights surrounded him. Doors flew open and police had their guns aimed for him. "Get down on your face!" one screamed in Russian, inching forward.

An officer grabbed the screaming baby. The other two grasped the priest's arms and pulled him up. Cold handcuffs clamped around his wrists. He stared at the baby, his chest heaving for air.

"You are under arrest for kidnapping," the officer spat, pulling him towards the squad car.

Fr. Paul looked towards the officer with the baby dazedly as the men forced him to one of the squad cars. This was not a part of the plan. Yet, he knew the pieces would fall in place.